The Darkest Part

by Trisha Wolfe

  Or, I could go with it.

  Melody’s advice swirls in my head, making me brave. Hold on to me and Tyler, or let things work themselves out. What does my heart want? Glancing over at Holden as he tries hard to look like he’s searching for music instead of dreading my driving, I decide . . . not to worry about it. To enjoy the trip.

  One thing my heart wants: carefree.

  And then a terrifying thought attacks my brain. “Oh, my God.”

  “What?” Holden looks up, searching the highway and then me. “What’s wrong?”

  “We forgot to spread Tyler’s ashes.”

  He releases an audible breath. “Shit, Sam. I thought you were about to plow into something.” He runs his hand through his hair again. “It’s all right. We’ll just veer off course on our way back and hit Springfield again.” He smiles, and my heart slows to a less erratic beat.

  I breathe in, breathe out. “Wait,” I say, glancing at the sign as we pass. “What route would we have taken to go to Outdoor World?”

  Holden pulls out his phone and punches something on the screen. “Sixty-five. Same as we took in. Why?” His eyebrows scrunch together, but I think he already knows what I’m about to do.

  I take the next exit and, finding the sign for my turn almost too late, swing onto the ramp leading us back toward Springfield. Holden curses as I take the curve hard. “Fuck. If you weren’t handling her so well, I think I would’ve just shat myself.”

  I laugh. After I get back onto sixty-five, I look over. His expression is strange. I’ve never seen that look in his eyes before. But suddenly, as a memory is triggered, I remember a time when I did. At the dead tree. His gaze flicked over me in something that could only be described as awe.

  And he has that same look now.

  “I told you I could drive a stick.” I puff out my chest in mock cockiness. I expect him to laugh, for my joke to lighten the intensity shadowing his face. It doesn’t.

  My stomach flutters, and I grip the wheel tighter. He finally averts his gaze, and the cab loses some of its tension.

  “I didn’t doubt that you could.”

  I smirk. “Liar.”

  He chuckles. And that fluttering returns. I won’t deny that I’m attracted to him—am still attracted to him. That would be lying to myself, and I’m sick of that, too. Like I was trying to explain to Tyler at the hotel pool, I had loved Holden at one time. It wasn’t in the same way that I loved him. But Holden had been my first crush. My first love. And my first real heartbreak.

  I’d tried to convince myself that I was too young to know what real love was back then. And, maybe I was. But I never felt for Tyler what I’d felt for Holden. That intense, raw, all-consuming emotion. And I assumed it was because it wasn’t actually love. Just desire, or lust, or hormones, maybe.

  Tyler was my forever. We would have had an amazing life together. Despite his slip with that bar girl, we would’ve worked through it. And he would’ve been a wonderful husband, and an even better father.

  But that forever . . . that possible future . . . is gone. I’ve always had a plan. Because of Tyler. He was that type. Everything mapped out. Just like his road trip. And I was a part of his plan. I wanted to be, and I would’ve been content living out that plan.

  Content.

  It echoes in my head. That word should feel more . . . .satisfying. Happy. But that’s not the definition of contentment. I’d never asked myself before if being content would be enough. I never had to. And what I was trying to get across to Tyler was: I have to now.

  More than he needs to let me go, I need to let him go. In order to move on and find something more than contentment. I’m not ashamed that I loved Holden anymore. Those feelings, regardless of whether they were misguided or wrong, were real.

  I just don’t know what to do about it. And I can’t fully explore anything until I’ve completed my journey with Tyler.

  “You’re going to miss the exit,” Holden says, pulling me out of my deep thoughts.

  “Oh.” I turn on the blinker and merge into the next lane. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  His voice is light and carefree. I smile.

  As I head down the road, I take in the massive building that stretches the entire parking lot before us. “That can’t all be a Bass Pro Shop. All of it?”

  “Looks like it,” he says under his breath and then groans. “Are we going in?”

  “Um . . .” I spot a place next to one of the many ponds lining the road. I’m sure Holden will have a mild stroke when I do this, but I say, “No. Right here’s fine.” And I pull into the high grass. The jarring whap of grass blades pelting the sides of the truck and undercarriage makes me cringe, and I peek over at him. “This is okay, right?”

  He presses his lips together, restraining a frown or a smile, I’m not sure which. Then he looks at me with a forced calm expression. “I’m not that anal.” He cocks his head. “All right. I am, but it’s fine.”

  Parking in first and pulling the e-brake, I shut off the engine and just sit for a minute. Driving is a huge thing for me, and now I have to get my mind straight to release more of Tyler’s ashes.

  Holden seems to realize that I need a minute and hops out of the truck. I watch as he sinks his hands into his pockets and walks toward the pond. My gaze sweeps over his broad shoulders, the tattoos on his arm. An unbidden memory of his eyes, intense and wanting, enters my mind.

  Not the best timing. I’m trying to focus on Tyler, but it’s getting complicated. With a deep inhale, I open the door and get out. Reaching behind the seat, I grab my pack, then walk toward the edge of the pond where Holden is standing. I soak up the bright sun, let it warm some of the hesitant chill sweeping my skin.

  “You really have no idea why your brother was so fascinated with seeing Outdoor World?” I keep my sight on the dark, lily pad-covered pond top.

  Holden shakes his head. “Not a clue.”

  I reach into my pack and bring out the picture box, my stomach already knotting. I thought the more we did this, the easier it would get. But my nerves are extra shaky now, especially after how upset Tyler got back at the pool.

  “Can I have this stop?” Holden asks. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I glance up at him. I open my mouth to ask why, but he continues. “I need a moment with my brother.”

  The serious look in his eyes tells me this is a no-nonsense moment for him. I swallow hard and, with my resolve locked in place, hand him the box. “I’ll be in the truck.” I try for a smile, but it feels strained.

  As I walk back, I take one last look over my shoulder, regret flooding me. But I can’t deny Holden this time with his brother. For whatever reason, he needs this.

  After I’m in the truck, I crank the engine and let it idle to drown out his words, just in case he feels the need to speak them aloud. I turn up the volume to give them further privacy, then watch as Holden looks down at the box in his hands. I can’t see if he’s talking or not, but I note the tension in his back and shoulders. I have to look away.

  A while later, I jerk upright when I hear the truck door open. I’d shut my eyes just for a minute, and nearly fell asleep. “Ready?”

  He nods, long and hard, before he pushes the box under the seat. “Yeah. I think we’re good.” He looks at me, and a slow smile slides across his face. It’s not guarded. Whatever he needed to get off his chest, it’s out there, and I can feel the relief rolling off him.

  A full, unguarded smile to match his tugs at my lips. “All right. Then off to Wichita it is.”

  As I drop the brake and shift into first, he says, “Why Wichita?”

  I almost laugh, remembering when I’d asked that very question of Tyler. “It’s my stop.” From out the corner of my eye, I see his brows pull together. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any Eagles in your case, would you?” I ask, changing the subject before he can ask.

  He balks. “Of course.” He tugs out the leather CD case and unzips the side. “Any requests?”


  I pull out onto the road. “Yeah. Witchy Woman.”

  HOLDEN

  Sam turns into the Holiday Inn near downtown Wichita at 11:45 pm. I didn’t think we’d make it here in under the projected MapQuest travel time, but she pulled it off. She drove the whole way, and even kept the speedometer at around seven miles above the speed limit on the highway.

  No panic attacks.

  I can tell she’s exhausted now¸ though. Hell, I’m exhausted, and I wasn’t the one driving. For her first time back in the driver’s seat, a four hour stretch from one unfamiliar city to the next is extreme. It’s even more impressive since we’ve already been on the road for days. She’s completely out of her element.

  And I was right. Watching her drive my truck was a huge turn on. It didn’t help that she’s still in her jean skirt. I could’ve reminded her about her promise—but I think I’m accepting my fate as a masochist. Thoughts of sliding over to her and running my hand up that skirt, tasting her while she was driving . . . Fucking torture. I had to mentally douse myself with cold water a few times.

  With an inward groan, I mentally flog myself for thinking of it again.

  Outdoor World was enough to get my head on straight, at least for a while. It’s sad that I had to wait until after my brother’s gone to tell him what I’d been bottling up for years. But, it had to be done. I didn’t lie to Sam. I did promise Tyler that I’d look out for her. We promised that to each other. And I wanted to clarify that agreement.

  I may have zero chance with Sam. But if she ever does give me a shot, I won’t back out this time. Not for anyone. Not even his ghost. I know I don’t deserve her, but I’ll try. I’ll try damn hard. I wanted him to know that.

  After we drag ass up to the check-in counter, I’m seriously ready to crash. That hour rest wasn’t near enough. With all that’s happened, today seems longer than a day. More like a week. Or a year.

  With few words, I get our room, and then we’re in an elevator and on our way up to the fifth floor. Glancing at Sam a couple of times, I take in her proud expression. I envision picking her up and pressing her to the elevator wall and kissing her senseless. I’m that proud of her.

  I shake the image from my head.

  “Are you all right?” she asks.

  The elevator dings and the doors open. I let her walk through first. “Yeah. Just tired.”

  She accepts my answer with a nod as we head down the hallway in search of our room. And I realize this is, hopefully, the first time on the trip I’ll actually sleep all night in a bed. I laugh out loud. I might be delirious.

  Sam pauses before the door, the key card hovering over the metal reader, her eyebrows raised in question.

  “Nothing,” I say, having a hard time wiping the smile from my face. “I’m just overjoyed to have a bed.”

  Realization dawns, and her eyes go wide. “Oh, shit. You haven’t really slept much, have you?”

  I shrug it off. “I don’t need a lot of sleep. But hell, I’ve never looked so forward to sleeping in a hotel bed before.”

  As we enter the room, I’m stoked. One large king and a twin, and the comforters look clean and soft. I drop my bag, unconcerned where, and fall face first into the twin. It’s the first bed.

  Sam’s laugh makes me smile into the bedspread. “You can have the big bed. I’m small.”

  I don’t argue. She is tiny, and I’m going to stretch all of my six-foot two self out on that huge ass bed. Slogging over, I yank the comforter back and climb in, leaving my shoes on the floor.

  Sam eyes me. “You’re not going to—?”

  She halts as I hustle under the covers to get my jeans off and then toss them somewhere in the room. “Nope,” I say. “All done.” I look over and grin. “I’m a guy, you know. We don’t take much maintenance.” I crook a smile as I flip her excuse from last night around on her. And honestly, I’m too drained to care if she’s offended. I just want sleep. This is one night she doesn’t have to fear me making a move on her.

  I’ve already got my lamp off and eyes closed when she returns from the bathroom. Despite sleep crying my name, I fight my eyes open to get a glimpse of her. And wish I hadn’t.

  She’s in her too-short girl boxer things that I can just see beneath her tee. There’s nothing sensual about her night clothes, or there shouldn’t be. But she makes the simplest outfit look sexy as hell.

  Running a hand down my face, I exhale. “Night, Sam,” I say as she slides in under her covers.

  She lays facing me, her hair spread over the pillow. Her hand curled in front of her mouth. “Night, Holden. Sweet dreams.”

  Her voice is so soft, and her words pierce my heart. If she ever discovers what demons haunt my dreams, she’d know just how much I craved sweet ones. With a deep breath, I inhale some of her sweet scent and commit to memory her beautiful face before I roll over and close my eyes, hoping it helps keep the nightmares at bay.

  One of the reasons I have a “bed thing” is my dreams. Being comfortable, for whatever reason, means less nightmares. Less vivid ones, at least. I have to admit, despite the lumpy hotel bed, I didn’t wake once. And I’m refreshed and feel like we might actually complete this trip without falling apart.

  Or, we might just be entering the eye of the storm.

  Sam’s good at sweeping stuff under the rug. Every time we’ve fought, had to face an issue, she’s been the one to call the shots and chose to let it drop. Move on. Not deal with it. And really, for most guys, a girl like that is ideal.

  But in Sam’s case, it’s not good. One day, the top is going to blow.

  I’m not sure if I want that day to be during our trip or not. I’d rather it be when she’s close to home, feels safe. Protected. Then again, I’m about ready to have it out and force us to work through our shit. In the end, we’ll either be friends, or she’ll decide she’s done with me altogether.

  These thoughts churn a hole in my brain as I sip my Starbucks on a bench in Central Riverside Park. We decided to have an easy, laidback day until we’re to meet up with Biker Melody and her people for the show.

  Sam’s sitting in the grass near a pond, sketchpad on her lap. The mid-morning sunlight sets off the blue highlights in her black hair, and she looks so at peace, so beautiful, I have the sudden need to draw her.

  I haven’t drawn anything on this trip. Which is odd for me. I’m always doodling or sketching anything that catches my eye. But I’ve been so wrapped up in Sam, in whatever is going on with her, me, us—that I just haven’t. And maybe that’s part of my problem. Drawing is my outlet, and I’ve been keeping everything locked up on the inside for days.

  Pushing off the bench, I think it’s what I want more than anything. Well, almost. But right now, it’s more than a necessity. Like breathing.

  As I settle down next to Sam, I peek at her drawing. Shades of black and gray blend into a landscape of the park and pond.

  “You wanna share your supplies?” I ask her.

  She mock sighs. “I’m usually pretty stingy”—she blocks the sun from her face with her hand as she glances at me—“but I’ll make an exception. For you.” She rummages through her pack and pulls out another pad and a container of charcoal, pencils, and paints. “Use whatever.”

  “All right.” I choose a pencil, only because I don’t feel like having smudged up fingers. “You know, they make holders.”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” she says, looking back at her sketch. “I don’t mind getting a little messy. It’s worth it to capture just what I want.” She looks up and smiles, almost to herself. “I’d always wanted my own studio, and used to picture myself covered in paint from working all day.”

  The vigor in her words floods me with so much want for this girl. I suppress my need to touch her, and instead grip my pencil tighter. My thoughts drift back to the old oak, remembering her smudged cheek. Although it was a turbulent moment, I couldn’t help my pulse slamming against my veins as I wiped the mark from her face. Even at her worst, Sam i
s gorgeous, passionate. And the need to touch her thrums through me. All the time.

  Her words suddenly hit me, and I look at her. “Used to? You don’t want your own studio anymore?”

  She shrugs, but it’s jittery. “Maybe one day.”

  Letting the subject drop, because I don’t want to push her, we fall into companionable silence as we draw. Her with her landscape, me with the new design I’d been working on right before I left Atlanta. And it feels right. Despite the immense fuckupery that is this trip, it’s like when we were kids, and we could draw together without the need to talk. It’s easy and just . . . right.

  I flip the page in my pad and start a new drawing.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Sam says, and my hand stills. My breath stops in my chest.

  “Of course. Though, technically, you just did,” I say, hoping to break some of the tension her words created. But I’m sure she can hear the hesitancy in my voice.

  She’s facing me now, her legs crossed, and she sits back on her palms. Completely stoic in spite of my lame attempt. “I don’t want to fight or argue, or anything. But I’ve been thinking.” She pauses, and I force myself to hold her gaze, even as panic grips me. “What’s your reasoning? I mean, why are you completely convinced Tyler isn’t here? You believe it without a doubt.” She tilts her head. “I guess I want to know why you don’t question that it could be possible.”

  Mirroring her position, I flip my pad closed and lean back on my hands. It’s a fair question. I asked her to think about the possibility of my brother only being in her mind, and it makes sense for her to turn the tables on me. Before I answer, I think long and hard, instead of just spitting out what I think is obvious. That’s not fair to her.

  “I have questioned it.” Her eyes widen, just slightly. “Some of the things you’ve said, things that you couldn’t possibly know . . . I won’t lie. I have moments of doubt.” Her forehead creases, and she glances down, some worry or other emotion crossing her face. When she looks at me again, her mouth parts, and I wait for her to speak. I hold my breath, waiting. And when it becomes clear she won’t, “But, the reason I can push that doubt aside is because I believe Tyler’s in a good place, Sam. I believe it with everything in me.”